


i heard it (from the aisle of the cathedral)

by lemonsunrise



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abused Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders-centric, Bingeing, Blood and Injury, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Depression, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual LAMP - Freeform, Fasting, Human Sides (Sanders Sides), Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Marijuana, Multi, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overworking, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Suicide Attempt, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, References to Alcohol, References to Drugs, References to Sex, Running Away, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Swearing, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Trophy Keeping, throwing up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 23:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21484531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsunrise/pseuds/lemonsunrise
Summary: Virgil had three “soulmates.” Or, as he liked to call it, no soulmates.Three different colored pens, (which were not) writing on his body, leaving the tingling sensation one would usually associate with a soulmate trying to communicate- or in a non-favorable situation, getting hurt. But that wasn’t what this feeling was. Because Virgil did not have soulmates.He did not have one, he did not have two, and he certainly did not have three. And if in some alternate, fucked up reality, someone out there was unlucky enough to get him as a soulmate, then they were screwed. Because even if he had a soulmate, (which he didn’t) he would make sure they didn’t know he existed. And he would pretend they didn’t. He would shower in the dark and wear baggy clothing. That was that.But he wouldn’t be able to avoid the injuries on his skin. They wouldn’t feel it, aside from the light tingling, and that was hardly noticeable anyway. And besides, that’s what makeup was for, wasn’t it?Virgil Dawson did not have soulmates.And he didn’t need them either....If only his not-soulmates could be less fucking annoying.(fic title from ‘cathedral’ by jade bird.)
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Everyone, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton, Eventual LAMP
Comments: 27
Kudos: 348





	i heard it (from the aisle of the cathedral)

**Author's Note:**

> chapter title: be nice to me - the front bottoms
> 
> chapter warnings: fasting, binging, throwing up, references to alcohol + drugs, swearing, overworking, not sleeping, nightmares, panic attack referenced, hitting a wall, sex referenced in passing, crying, and trauma prompted responses 
> 
> yo!!!! if you want a summary of this chapter comment and I will give it to u,,, also all of this will be based off my own experiences so!! if something seems off or incongruent with how you experienced something, dw! it’s just my experiences. thank you so much for reading ily so much,,,, if u comment I will cherish u forever,,,,,,,,, also this is gonna be a SLOW burn so! stuff is starting off rocky, but dw! they’ll make up soon enough.
> 
> also i love soulmates aus okay bye enjoy

Virgil had three “soulmates.” Or, as he liked to call it, no soulmates.

Three different colored pens, (which were not) writing on his body, leaving the tingling sensation one would usually associate with a soulmate trying to communicate- or in a non-favorable situation, getting hurt. But that wasn’t what this feeling was. Because Virgil did not have soulmates. 

He did not have one, he did not have two, and he certainly did not have three. And if in some alternate, fucked up reality, someone out there was unlucky enough to get him as a soulmate, then they were screwed. Because even if he had a soulmate, (which he didn’t) he would make sure they didn’t know he existed. And he would pretend they didn’t. He would shower in the dark and wear baggy clothing. That was that.

But he wouldn’t be able to avoid the injuries on his skin. They wouldn’t feel it, aside from the light tingling, and that was hardly noticeable anyway. And besides, that’s what makeup was for, wasn’t it?

Virgil Dawson did not have soulmates.

And he didn’t need them either.

* * *

In retrospect, Dee had warned him about this. He had thought he had been kidding or trying to scare Virgil.

But.

The dorm really was really fucking shitty. Realistically, there was no other way to put it. The stench of cheap alcohol and weed had full on assaulted his nose the second he had slouched his way into the building. The RA had laughed at his reaction, and assured him it wasn’t always like this.

After seeing a second shiftily patched and painted over hole in the wall, Virgil began to doubt it. It was better than home, at least. Though that was the only thing “better” about it. (And it really didn’t take much to be better than home.)

It all was just peachy. 

Except for the fact his fucking door wouldn’t open. He kicked it angrily, and it didn’t budge, aside from shifting slightly under the force of the impact. The RA had given him a key, and just his shitty luck, it was the wrong one. 

He dropped his bags unceremoniously and put his back to the door, leaning against it until he slid down and hit the ground with a sigh. 

It didn’t open, but at this point he didn’t expect it to.

He could call the RA and ask for a new key with the pamphlet he had been given, but he had already stumbled through their

conversation once, and hadn’t made an effort not to glower. So. That was a lost cause. 

His arm began to prick with the familiar sensation and Virgil froze, refusing to look down at it. He wasn’t supposed to look. He didn’t have a soulmate. He wasn’t even wearing short sleeves. Actually, he was wearing too many layers for late August for that exact reason.

Somehow, even if he couldn’t see it, he could feel the lies he most certainly had not told himself it had against his skin. 

Virgil Dawson did not have soulmates. Not one, not two, and not three.

The door next to his took this as it’s queue to open, and then to slam shut.

Virgil flinched. Harshly. And forced his eyes open. 

It was a guy, probably a little taller than him height wise and at most two years older than him age wise. He was wearing an askew tie and a slightly wrinkled formal shirt, and black glasses. And he was angry.

Virgil didn’t have a good relationship with anger. Certainly not when the angry person in question was older and taller and towering above him.

Before he had time to process he was on his feet. He hadn’t eaten or slept in days. He was no match for the man, but fuck he could sure as hell try.

He tensed.

The man didn’t move.

He opened his eyes cautiously. The man was staring at him. His body as rigid as when he had slammed the dorm door.

Virgil crossed his arms, putting on a scowl and attempting to look intimidating, even though he was 70% sure he had been shaking a moment ago. He glared at the man, who was watching him intensely. 

He was much taller.

They stood like that for a minute, sizing eachother up. 

Virgil glaring, ready to flee at any moments notice, or go down with a fight. The man just looked slightly interested. Virgil felt a surge of anger at that, though it was most likely the adrenaline talking. Probably. He wasn’t a book or some shit. He wasn’t this kids biology lab. He didn’t even know if he took biology. Probably. He looked like a nerd. Know it all motherfucker. He was angry, and even if he hated anger, it was his one undeniable defensive mechanism. 

Focus, Virgil. He opened his mouth to say something.

The door opened again. 

“-it doesn’t even matter, class doesn’t start for a few more wee- oh.”

Another guy. Around the same age, but a little taller. He was wearing expensive looking pajamas emblazoned with a crown and with short sleeves, messages from his soulmate scribbled along his arms. 

...Soulmates. There were two differently colored blue pens, and a red one. He assumed,  ( seeing how stuck up this guy looked, ) he was red. Blue and Light blue accompanied the  slightly scribbly cursive. 

He coughed, and Virgil realized he was staring. He flinched and assumed the hunched over defensive posture he was used to, leaning on his door slightly.

There were two of them. They could take him down. Easily. Fuck .

“Who’re you?” He asked, suspiciously, eyeing him as the other man had just been doing.

“That’s none of your business.” Virgil managed to choke out, thankful that his stutter had taken this exact moment to fuck off.

The pajama clad man tensed.

“I was just asking, jeez. You’re our neighbor after all,” He turned to the other man. “Logan, come on. We can talk this out somewhere that isn’t emo infested.” He said, no longer looking at Virgil but sending an obvious side eye. Virgil rolled his eyes, but his nails bit tighter into his palms, creating crescent shaped indents. 

Man No. 1- No, it was Logan, didn’t respond, still intently staring at Virgil.

“Stop staring at me, you’re being fucking creepy. Leave me alone.” He instantly snapped, and buried the guilt he felt under instinctual, defensive anger. 

“...Do you need help getting your door open?” The man asked, like Virgil hadn’t said anything remotely rude or out of the ordinary.

“Oh my god! Emo Nemo over here just decided to be all edgy, Logan. We’re not helping him with his door. We’re going. ”

Virgil hesitated and then nodded quietly, and the man walked calmly towards his door. Virgil instantly pulled himself and his bags away from  him , and tossed hi m the key. It wasn’t l ike he had anything in there , anyways.

The man twisted the key twice and then pushed on the door with his shoulder. It popped and swung open with a groan.

Pajama gaped. Virgil didn’t say anything, but began to pick up his belongings from their newly shoved place on the floor, avoiding eye contact. 

“Logan!” He sputtered, as Logan turned to look at him. 

“You’re going to catch flies with that stuck up mouth of yours hanging open, Asshole.”

Fuck. He didn’t mean to say that. Okay, maybe he had meant to tell him to shut his mouth, but not that... harshly. And definitely not that obviously anxious. 

The man huffed, and didn’t pick up on. “Excuse you! You’re the one who told us, and I quote, ‘we were being fucking creepy’ and to ‘leave you alone.’”

“Roman.” Logan warned, and Virgil couldn’t suppress a sarcastic sneer. 

“Oh my god. Your name is Roman.” He grinned.

Paja- Roman, turned a full 360 to look at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

The question held such intensity that Virgil flinched but held his position. “Nothing.” He choked out.

Roman threw his hands up and went back into his room, and Logan turned to look at Virgil, and then followed, frowning.

Fuck. 

When Virgil was safe in his room with the door closed and locked, he finally let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Okay.

Their names were Logan and Roman. They were presumably soulmates, matched with a third which they probably lived with. Roman was an asshole at best and Logan was... suspicious. 

He hadn’t gone to college to make friends, or even enemies for that matter. He had gone to college to get away from the same old shit.

...And still found himself with two fucking assholes living close to him. 

Fuck, that made him angry. 

And maybe he has a panic attack and cries and screams into his pillow and then hits another wall because he can almost hear them talking about him and he’s back there no matter how far he goes and-

Maybe the walls aren’t as thick as he thinks they are.

* * *

He has another nightmare. He wakes up crying, and he has absolutely no idea why. All he knows is that he’s sweating and sobbing and feels like puking his stomach out, even though he’s been fasting for the past few days and would probably throw up his intestines and.

He falls backwards.

Because these stupid fucking 16,000$ tuition funded walls are so thin. And it’s only 10 pm.

And he can hear the movement of the people in the next dorm over- Roman, Logan, and presumably a third- beginning to stir.

He covers his mouth quickly, though really he had gone instinctively silent the minute he woke up; And began to listen.

“...ogan?”

“Pat? Why are you awake at this hour?”

Pat. So there was another person. It wasn’t unheard of, to have two soulmates. Virgil wasn’t the type to give a shit about that, especially since he had no soulmate himself.

“Someone’s crying next door Logan, I-I.”

Logan was silent. 

“I met him, earlier today,” He can almost hear Pat’s head snap up, wide eyed. “And realistically I do not think talking to him would be our best course of action.”

“Oh? Why? Do you think it’s like a sex thing or-“

“He told us we were ‘being fucking creepy’ and to ‘leave him alone.”

“...oh.” The word left him breathless, like he was ready to get up and apologize right then and there. Because this ‘Pat’ guy didn’t seem as bad as the other two. And maybe he was genuinely worried and maybe he cared and was being nice and they could be fr-

No. Hell to the fucking no. He wasn’t here to make friends. Friends were. Friends were mostly bullshit and Dee and Remus were the only friends he had ever had, and he knows these three aren’t like them in the slightest. Making friends will never get him anywhere and-

Soulmates. Friends. Relationships. Family. They’re all stupid and a waste of time, not worth the societal hype, and. And.

He scrambles to the bathroom, not giving a shit about the noise he’s making, and throws up. It’s all bile.

* * *

Class started in a week. 

And god. Virgil really, really, wasn’t prepared. He had gotten the textbooks- online, and off some shady site, of course, but he had them nonetheless- And his schedule and his student ID and whatever pencils he could scrounge from the school grounds, along with some second hand notebooks. (Standards were a luxury he couldn’t afford.)

But actual schedule wise? He was fucked. 

He had gotten a job at a McDonald’s a little ways away from his dorm building. It was shifty and he only barely made minimum wage, but he was working. And he was making money.

That was the only good part. 

The oil and grease, along with the smell and sight of the food alone, made him want to throw up, and too often he found himself huddled over a crate behind the drive through, his body attempting to empty itself of food he hadn’t eaten.

After work one really fucking bad day, he had binged on all the food he could get his hands on with the money in his wallet. It was weeks of fasting and weeks of saving down the drain. 

He was pretty sure someone had knocked on his door that night. He hadn’t answered it, and they had stopped eventually. He stopped sobbing around 3 am. 

Virgil hadn’t shown up to work the next day, out of pure shame.

He almost got fired. 

He didn’t mind it as much as he should have. 

He took ungodly hours and overworked himself. And if Virgil wasn’t going for a degree in coding (like his father had wanted) he could have easily auditioned for a horror movie monster. 

He didn’t see Roman, Logan, or Patton. (He had found out ‘Pat’s’ name after listening to a conversation they had had one night over Uno. God, he was such a hypocrite. And he had called them creepy.) Which was... good. 

If he had heard one of them whining and crying and throwing up every night he would’ve been fucking pissed. So the same thing, at least, could be assumed for them.

He wasn’t ‘avoiding’ them, per se, but. He made an effort to go back into his room whenever they passed, or to ‘suddenly forget something’ when he saw them on campus.

They didn’t try to talk to him anyway. 

It didn’t matter. He hardly even knew them. And he didn’t want to know them either.

He didn’t want to hear their boisterous laughter, which he knew for a fact would make him flinch. He didn’t want to feel their eyes on him, which he was certain he would shrink under. He didn’t want to hear their voices directed to him, when everyone knew he couldn’t get a sentence out without upsetting someone or stuttering or crying.

He had coordinated his shifts so he had most of the day free. His manager, a grizzled old woman who donned a (frankly badass) eyepatch, had sighed deeply, but allowed it. So. He worked the nights. 

Which, surprise surprise, no one else wanted to work. Not even another needy college student. And god. Maybe they had the right idea.

Night shifts were rough for anyone, even if they weren’t working in a shitty McDonalds near an interstate and 7 blocks away from a college. 

With work and last minute prep and studying, he shouldn’t have had time to think about the three soulmates next door, or his soulmate (which he definitely did not have) or eating, or his family, or... anything.

Supposedly.

He also didn’t have time to sleep. But, he had survived without eating for a while. And he was fine. He hadn’t lost any weight.

He had survived on less. He could work with this. 

* * *

If only his not-soulmates could be less fucking annoying.

* * *

“A soulmate, though enjoyable, is not necessary for human success or survival. Multiple studies have shown that people who do not have soulmates (wether they were born without them, or something happened to said soulmate) can be as happy and healthy as someone who does have a soulmate. However, certain things can stand in the way, such as prejudice and circumstances of soulmate loss (if applicable.)”

[Exert from page 135, Understanding the Psychology of Soulmates.]

* * *


End file.
